


What Goes Bump in the Night

by Maeniac



Series: Let It All Out [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Ed-level cursing, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Post Promised Day, pillow forts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 06:32:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13564839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeniac/pseuds/Maeniac
Summary: “That’s what your dream was about.” Ed says. It’s not a question.“Yeah…”Alphonse squeezes her tighter for a second, feels Ed doing the same, and then calls her name.“Winry,” she looks up at him. “Can you tell us what happened in your nightmare?”Or: after the Promised Day, Edward and Alphonse have settled down in Riesembool. Things are peaceful, but fears have an unfortunate tendency to linger, even now that the danger is gone.





	What Goes Bump in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> After three months, I've finally finished the sequel to Self Care Is Important and it's over twice as long. Whoops?  
> Anyways, this story takes place after the Promised Day, when Ed and Al are in Riesembool, but before they go on their separate journeys. The nightmare in this fic features some pretty graphic content so please be aware and stay safe! Please let me know what you think of this in the comments (they seriously make my day) and thank you all for reading! Enjoy!

Winry wakes to tears streaming down her cheeks and a sob clogging up her windpipe. She gasps, breath heaving and shuddering as she curls in on herself. Pulling her knees to her chest and hiding her face in them, she allows herself to fall apart after the nightmare. Just lets the waves of grief and fear and horror crash over her.

She cries until she can get a hold of herself again. Wiping her face and sniffling like crazy, she tries to take stock of her surroundings. Her room looks like it normally does, with her latest project strewn across her worktable and the occasional article of clothing on the floor. Really the only obvious difference she can make out in the darkness is the fact that the blankets have been kicked to the end of her bed. She must have been tossing and turning a lot in her sleep.

At the reminder, the sickening feelings return, swarming up her throat and threatening to choke the air from her lungs again. Snippets flash through her mind: her parents smiling and waving; the shadow of a hulking figure; the twin looks of horror on Ed's and Al's faces; the blood – _oh, God, there was so much blood._ She shuts her eyes, as if that might stop the oppressive flood of images.

 _None of it was real,_ she tells herself.

_But what if-?_

No.

She won't let herself think that far - won't even let the words fully form in her mind - but the thought persists.

_What if? What if? What if? What if? What if? What if?_

Try as she might, the irrational fear clings to her.

Cursing herself and her stupid, _stupid_ brain, Winry jumps to her feet and marches out into the hall. She won’t be able to think anything’s wrong if the proof is right in front of her. With every step, however, she slows down and turns the decision over in her mind. It would be so thoughtless of her to barge into the boys' room and disturb them just because a dream rattled her.

She stops in front of their door.

She just -

She _needs_ to check on them. She needs to know they’re okay.

Steeling herself, Winry tentatively opens the door and slips inside.

 

* * *

  
Edward can’t sleep. This is nothing new in the slightest; between the nightmares and his brain’s inability to shut up for two damn seconds, he finds himself lying awake often enough that he’s mostly resigned to it by now. Case in point, he’s developed something of a system. If he can’t sleep, then he’ll just read until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore. Genius, right? Only problem is that everyone and their grandmother is all too keen to remind him that reading in the dark is bad for his eyes. It’s not like he can switch on the lamp every time his insomniac tendencies hit. Unlike him, Alphonse actually sleeps at night now (a fucking _gift_ , which Ed will never stop being thankful for), and he will be _damned_ if he disturbs his little brother’s beauty sleep anymore than he already has.

Thank fuck for flashlights.

The beam is bright enough that Ed can comfortably read to his heart’s content, yet dim enough that the glow isn’t noticeable through his thick duvet.

Tonight, he’s continuing to reread one of the alchemical journals from when he was a kid - because why the hell not - only, he’s not actually reading it at the moment. He’s staring at the pages, eyes not taking in a single word, because something just _clicked_ in a way it hadn’t when he was reading it for the first time. His mind is whirring, racing from thought to thought almost faster than he can keep up with, trying to see how this new piece of information fits and changes how he sees everything else - like a massive jigsaw puzzle making up the entire universe - and what it all _means_ and that-

Edward has a split second to register another presence in the room before the covers get yanked back and his fight or flight instincts go to shit.

He jolts so hard – half in pure surprise, half in an aborted motion to get away from his attacker – that he topples right over the edge of the bed. He curses loudly and fluently on the way down, and makes out the sound of a startled yelp over the din. From where he’s left writhing on the floor, struggling to free his limbs from the sheet that jumped ship along with him, he hears Alphonse wake with a start.

He calls out, “What’s going-“ before cutting himself off with an incredulous, “ _Winry?_ ”

 _Winry?_ That gives Ed pause. _What the fuck is she doing?_

A lamp turns on - courtesy of Al - and sure enough, there’s his mechanic, standing in her pyjamas with her arms crossed. She looks two seconds away from tapping her foot on the floor and wagging a disapproving finger at him.

“Edward Elric,” she starts. Oh, here we go - “Don’t tell me you were reading in the dark _again_. You know that’s going to ruin your eyes!”

“What the fuck.” Ed says flatly - more of an exclamation at the situation as a whole than an actual question. He sits up so that he’s no longer lying on the floor like a dumbass and says, with growing vehemence, “Fucking _jeez_ , you could at least let me recover from the fucking _heart attack_ you gave me before you start on this shit again!” His eyes narrow as a thought occurs to him. “And what the fuck are you doing sneaking up on me at night like a fucking _serial killer_ anyways?”

“I just wanted to check on you!” Winry says defensively.

“How come?” Al asks. There’s nothing in his tone except genuine curiosity and he has his head tilted to one side in that way that makes him look a bit like a puppy. It’s still strange and wonderful to see Alphonse emote outside of the armour.

“I, uh…” she stutters for a moment before recovering quickly. “I was just going to the kitchen to get some water when I saw the light on under the door.” Casual – that’s what she’s going for. Ed doesn’t buy it for a second. He raises an eyebrow at her.

“The light’s not bright enough to shine under the door.”

“Not to mention, we’re further from the staircase than you are, Winry.” Al points out. “Why would you pass by our room if you were headed for the kitchen?”

Winry looks away at that. Busted. Leaning back against his brother’s bed, Ed can’t help but smirk at the fact that he’s not the one caught out in a lie and being interrogated for once. It wouldn’t hurt to tease her, just a bit. They live to rile each other up, after all.

Ed opens his mouth and releases the sarcasm.

 

* * *

 

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

 

* * *

   
Winry gasps once - high and sharp – and then her next exhale comes out shuddering.

It’s different. The way he said it – it’s completely different. This question is not an accusation; it is not an arrest, a trial, and a guilty verdict slammed down on her head. There’s no crime she has to answer for here, but even so, the words rattle her. It’s too close to what the nightmare demanded of her.

She feels her eyes fill with tears, ducking her head to try and hide them, but it’s already sent both brothers into a frenzy.

“Brother, what did you do?” Al rounds on him.

“Nothing!” Ed says, a little panicked. Leaping to his feet, his hands hover awkwardly in the air between them, unsure of what to do. “Shit, fuck – come on, Winry. Whatever it was, I didn’t mean it! Please stop crying.”

“What’s wrong?”

They’re both so concerned for her. It should make her feel better but instead she just wants to cry all the more. She doesn’t deserve them. After overcoming everything life could possibly throw at them in barely a quarter of the time, they shouldn’t have to worry themselves for her sake.

Winry hastily wipes her eyes and says “It’s nothing,” but the words come out wobbly. She breathes deep and forces herself under control. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit it’s nothing.” Ed snaps, then tenses, as if fearful that she might burst into tears all over again.

“Something obviously upset you,” Alphonse says to her gently. “It’s okay, you can tell us – and I’ll make sure Brother apologizes.”

Ed opens his mouth, ready to protest that last part but Al glares at him fiercely before gesturing to her. He takes one look at the way she’s still desperately trying to scrub the saltwater off her face and clearly gives up arguing the point.

“It’s not –“ She has to stop and clear her throat. “It’s not Ed’s fault. I’m just… being stupid.”

Judging from his unimpressed look, Al doesn’t believe that one bit. He sighs, shaking his head with a wry smile on his face. “Why you and Brother both have to be so stubborn, I’ll never know.” He says, ignoring Ed’s indignant “ _Hey!_ ” as if he never heard it.

“Come here.” He reaches out to Winry, gently taking her wrists and pulling her to sit next to him on the edge of the bed. “You’ve always been there for us, you know. It’s amazing how you always know exactly how to help us.” Al says, his hands a pleasant cradle around hers. He’s been tender-hearted for as long as she can remember, now he finally has the warmth to match again. “But just this once, let _us_ help _you_.” As his brother spoke, Edward moved to sit on her other side. He doesn’t say anything, but the way he carefully nudges his shoulder against hers shows his support all the same.

“So,” Al brings her attention back to him, asking again, “What’s wrong?”

Winry bites her lip, trying to hold out, but Al’s quiet insistence makes it impossible.

“I had a bad dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it? It might help.”

She shakes her head viciously. The hurt feels too fresh, like an open wound in her mind; she doesn’t want to pick at it. Not yet, at least. Ed’s arm comes up to rub her back, the repetitive sweep of his hand steady and soothing.

“Okay,” Al squeezes her hands and whispers soft reassurances. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. Whatever you saw, it wasn’t real. It was just a dream.”

The three of them stay like that, and Winry basks in the comfort, the shelter these two are happy to give her. Maybe there’s no blood relation, but they’re family all the same. Most importantly, they’re safe – all of them.

“Jeez, Al,” Ed drawls after a while, teasing and proud all at the same time. He leans slightly around Winry so that Al can get the full, unobstructed view of his grin. “When did you get so damn good at this shit?”

His younger brother sniffs. “One of us had to get all of Mom’s social skills, and clearly it wasn’t going to be you.” Winry has to cover her mouth to keep from laughing.

Ed puts one hand on his chest, feigning nobility, and says, “I am _happy_ to pass on that torch to you, Little Brother.”

“You say that as if you ever had it in the first place.” Al mutters.

“Oi! I resent that.”

Winry stops holding back and giggles helplessly at the familiar back-and-forth. Ed gives her a warm smile, almost - but not quite - managing to cover up the relief behind it.

“There ya go,” He says “If you can laugh at me, you can’t be feeling that bad anymore.” She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t say anything, since it’s true.

Al seems to recognize that she’s more composed now too, but checks anyways because that’s just how considerate he is.

“Better?”

She gives a tiny nod. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” He says happily. “I mean it – if you ever have a problem you know we’ll be willing to help however we can.” He tries for a stern glare and fails miserably.

“Yeah, yeah, I gotcha.” Winry gives him a playful shove. “No need to be such a mother hen.”

“More like a _brother_ hen.” Ed says, looking expectantly back and forth between the two of them for a response. They groan in unison and Ed cackles, revelling in their apparent misery. It’s kind of a relief how easily they can slip into the friendly banter. Sometimes, when Ed and Al were still travelling all the time, Winry half-feared that they would have nothing to talk about once they finally returned.

Rarely has she ever been so happy to have been so wrong.

“Winry, do you want to try going back to bed?” Al asks suddenly.

And she’s safe – _they’re_ safe – she _knows_ that, but the thought of being alone right now makes her cringe. She looks down at the floor, scuffing her feet and manages to get out a meek, “Not… really.”

“Well, you can’t just stay up all night.” Ed points out. His tone lowers seriously. “Trust me, it never helps after that shit.” He seems to lose himself in thought for a split-second before he drags himself back to the present moment. With a shake of his head, he continues “Plus, Al still needs his beauty sleep.”

“ _Brother!_ I wish you wouldn’t call it that.” Al complains, mortified by the phrasing. He should know by now that his reaction is most of the reason why Ed keeps using it. “And besides, Winry could sleep in here, couldn’t she?”

Ed shrugs. “I don’t see how we’ll all fit - unless you wanna transmute the beds together.” The last part, he directs with a nod to his brother.

They _are_ a bit too big to double up in a single anymore. And simply pushing the beds together always leaves some unlucky person in the middle to slowly but surely sink into the crevice and get stuck there, which means the three of them will easily spend half the night arguing over who gets to sleep on the outside. She knows from experience.

But Alphonse just gives a funny little smile and says, “Oh, Brother, where’s your imagination?”

Winry suddenly worries for the fate of their furniture. It’s all too easy to forget that Al participated in half the mischief Edward’s gotten into over the years, and initiated the other half himself. Ed raises a single eyebrow.

Al does nothing to elaborate on what he has planned and simply says, “Stand back, please.”

Throwing his hands in the air, Ed huffs, “Fine. But if a mattress explodes I just want the record to show that I am _completely_ blameless in all this.” Despite his annoyed tone, he still lingers as Alphonse gets to his feet, ready to catch him the instant he shows any sign of losing balance.

“For once.” Winry teases as they obligingly step away. Ed obviously can’t contest that since he doesn’t do much more than grumble a little. She leans back against the far wall with him, as they both watch Al regarding the beds thoughtfully.

After a decisive nod to himself, he says, “Okay, here I go!” and claps his hands together. Pressing them both to the end of one of the beds, the light of an alchemical reaction fills the room. Winry squints, wanting to watch the transformation, but gives up when it’s still too bright for her and shuts her eyes. Once the flashing dies down, she blinks the spots out of her vision and examines Alphonse’s handiwork.

The wooden frames have been reshaped to create two right-angled triangular blocks, slants facing outwards to better hold up the large blanket draped over the top. Beneath the canopy, she can just make out the mattress – now a single mass and twice the size. The whole structure reminds her of a tent.

Ed looks it up and down, lets out a low whistle and says, “Not bad.”

“Oh, please, as if you could have done better. You would have been boring and just transmuted the beds together.”

“ _Would not!_ ”

Al widens his eyes. “Oh, of course, my mistake –“ He says faux-apologetically – “you would have transmuted the beds together and added _at least_ one gargoyle to each bed post.”

“I-“ Ed doesn’t get any further than that single indignant splutter.

Winry gives him a consolatory pat on the shoulder. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

He takes one quick breath in, gets stuck, and then deflates.

 

* * *

 

After that, Alphonse, Edward and Winry scout for more pillows and blankets, which wordlessly turns into a competition to see who can collect the most bedding without making a sound. (It ends in a draw.) Once they return with their spoils, the three of them pad out the blanket nest, crawling out from under the canopy to survey their work.

“So,” Ed begins, “Who’s sleeping where? I call dibs on the outside.”

Al turns to Winry. “Do you want to take the middle?” He asks her. It’s no secret that he loves being in the middle – of group hugs and cuddle piles and sitting on the couch. Even during sleepovers when they were younger, he always claimed the centre spot, and after years of being without touch, there’s nothing more reassuring than feeling the warmth of another person on all sides. But Winry looked so shaken – and still did – that Alphonse would be happy to give it up if it made her feel safe.

Evidently this is not lost on her. She blinks in surprise, expression crumpling a little, before she dives in to hug him. Burying her face against his collarbone, she grips him just a smidge too tight. Still, Al just smiles and gently pats her back.

“Thanks.” It’s squeezed out so quietly it’s barely audible, and if his shirt feels a little damp – well, that’s between them.

Edward meets his eyes over Winry’s shoulder, silently communicating a hundred tiny questions. _Is Winry okay? Is she **going** to be okay? Does she need me right now, too? Are **you** okay?_ Al returns the look, certain Ed will receive the message of, _Everything’s okay; I’ve got it handled,_ loud and clear.

He nods and then crouches down to crawl inside the blanket nest. There’s some shuffling - most likely Ed rearranging his designated spot to his liking - before he pokes his head out just as Winry is finally drawing back.

“Hey, are you two going to sleep any time soon or what?”

Winry marches over, emotional outburst apparently forgotten. “You’d better not have stolen all the blankets.” She warns, ducking under the canopy.

“Of course, not!” Ed protests, letting out a quiet, " _Oof,"_ when he gets a questionably-accidental elbow in the gut for his volume.

Winry turns over a couple times before finally settling in a position to her satisfaction. She gives Ed a sly look. “Right, ‘cause you’re still too short to take up that much space.”

“ _Who are you calling short?! I’m taller than you, now!_ ” At least he’s whisper-shrieking now instead of outright yelling.

“You don’t need height to take up space when you sleep like a starfish, Brother.” Alphonse says innocently, though the grin on his face is anything but.

“Jeez, what is this? Gang-up-on-Edward Day?” Ed grumbles.

“Technically, it’s night time.” Alphonse says.

Ed directs a flat glare at his brother.

Al stifles a snicker against his hand. “I’ll get the light, then, shall I?”

Before long, the lamp has finally been switched off, and the three of them are cozily squished up together within the blanket nest. Even without his favourite spot in the middle, Alphonse is content just being close like this with two of the most important people in the world to him. Winry’s foot presses against his calf, chilly toes startling a slight squeak out of him, which in turn makes her giggle. Ed’s sleepily mumbled scolding about their rowdiness floats to him from her other side.

“Sorry, sorry.” Winry whispers, though it sounds like she’s still barely holding back her mirth.

In an attempt to end any conversation before it can start, Al says “Goodnight, Brother. Goodnight, Winry.”

“Night, Al.” They say in perfect unison, and Winry has to muffle another burst of giggles while Ed sighs resignedly.

The edge of Alphonse’s mouth twitches with a smile, and then he closes his eyes. He takes a moment to breathe deeply and just… relish the sensation – the warmth, the softness, the safety of it. It’s funny how at times the dark feels like a beast lying in wait, and at others it’s like a cradle. There’s something about it that makes him introspective - thoughtful - and something else that makes him want to share those thoughts.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Al whispers, just loud enough to be heard. Edward and Winry both make inquiring noises. He elaborates, “I mean - the dark, the quiet – I like this. It’s different from how it was before.” _Less lonely_. “Now, I get to share nights like this with you guys.”

He feels Winry shift a little beside him and then a hand reaches out and rests on his shoulder. Like she’s reassuring him – or herself, or maybe both of them – that he’s here in the flesh. Her thumb swipes back and forth.

“I’m glad that you can have this again.” She says just as softly.

“Me too.” Ed says. “Makes it worth all the bullshit.”

Winry lets out a graceless snort. “Thank goodness that’s all over, now.”

A thought occurs to Alphonse, then – in that vague way where you can make out the general shape of it but won’t know the specifics until you follow the rabbit trail to its end. “It’s not really over, though,” he begins.

“The fuck do you mean, Al?” Ed cuts in.

“If you think about it, we’re still dealing with the fallout from everything that happened.” He tries to clarify.

“Well, _yeah_.” Ed says like it’s a given. “They were planning that shit from the very beginning – from the moment this country was _made_. It’s not like we can clear the rubble overnight and be done with it.”

“I don’t mean just that.” Which is a little funny for Al to say when even _he’s_ not entirely sure where he’s going with this. “We’re still dealing with what’s left – on a personal level, too. Like…” He struggles to put the abstractness of his thoughts into words. It’s as if he’s trying to package ideas into syllables when the edges don’t seem to want to fit right. “Like memories. Flashbacks. Like we’re still afraid of certain things even though the danger’s gone.”

“Afraid of what?” Winry asks quietly.

Alphonse remembers rows of sharp teeth; gleaming red eyes surrounding him with no escape, nowhere to hide. He remembers endless, endless dark.

“Shadows.” He whispers, trying to remind himself of why he _doesn’t_ need to be afraid anymore.

“From Selim, right?” His brother checks. Al hums an affirmative. “Yeah… It sucks but it’s not – I dunno – _surprising_ , I guess.” Edward pauses to think for a moment. He takes a deep, steadying breath and then he says:

“I – you don’t know about this one, Winry. It happened way back before we’d ever run into the homunculi. There was this… this tiny family. Just a little girl and her dad and the family dog.”

Al gasps a little. _Is Brother really going to talk about…?_

“We knew them ‘cause the dad was a State Alchemist and he was supposed to help us with our research.” Ed hastens to continue. “So we went over to their house for a couple days, and Al and I – we would do research and then we’d play with the little girl, as well.”

When Ed speaks again, Alphonse doesn’t even need to see him to know he’s got a terrible, twisted smile on his face. The memories taste so bittersweet, it hurts. “All she ever wanted to do was play with us - with her ‘big brothers’. But then… shit happened.” He huffs a wry laugh. “Shit _always_ happens. But, in the end, she died. She died and there wasn’t a fuckin’ _thing_ we could do about it. And now, sometimes, I hear little kids playing, and all I can think about is her. How she didn’t make it.”

The silence that follows is a sad one. Old grief for Edward and Alphonse - goodness knows what exactly Winry’s thinking. Maybe she’s sad in the distant way people are when they hear the death of someone they never even knew. Maybe she can tell how much it still hurts them, but knows all too well how helpless she is to fix it. Maybe she’s thinking of another little girl who looks up to her and trying to imagine how painful it would be to lose her, too.

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” Winry asks carefully. “People -“ _dying_ she doesn’t say – “people getting hurt and not being able to help them?”

“Sure.” Ed says, so bluntly that Alphonse _knows_ he’s trying to get the words out so that they can’t stick to the inside of his throat and choke him. “But – like I said – it’s not really surprising. Lots of people are afraid of that. Lots of people are so scared they have nightmares about it. Fuck knows _I_ still do.”

“For me,” Winry’s voice is shaking again and Al’s heart pangs for her. It’s so difficult to talk about your fear when you’re still in the throes of it, yet here she is forging ahead. “For me, it’s – the worst is – when you disappear.” Her breath stutters on an inhale and her voice is going croaky from fighting the words out but she’s _winning_. “I’m scared that you guys will leave and, this time, you won’t come back. Not ever.”

Al rolls over and wraps her in a hug. He hopes it conveys even a _fraction_ of just how proud he is of her, of how much he cares. There’s the sound of rustling blankets and then his brother’s arms are stretching as far as they will reach around both of them.

“That’s what your dream was about.” Ed says. It’s not a question.

Still, she breathes out a shaky, “Yeah…”

Alphonse squeezes her tighter for a second, feels Ed doing the same, and then calls her name.

“Winry,” she looks up at him. “Can you tell us what happened in your nightmare?”

He would leave it alone if she said no. He would be content to just comfort her, even without knowing the specifics. There’s no shame in not wanting to put the horrors you see at night into words - Ed and Al both know this. But Winry is oh so brave, one of the bravest people he knows. She breathes slowly, in and out; Alphonse can almost hear her counting the inhales and exhales.

“Okay.” She says. “Okay.”

And then she tells them.

 

* * *

 

 

_She’s wandering through Central city. The streets all look the same, leading into one another and connecting in impossible ways, with not a single sign to give her directions. There are no people - nothing but her own footsteps to fill the eerie quiet. Yet, despite all this, she knows that’s where she is. She’s supposed to be looking for something, but what? The thought escapes her._

_She walks on._

_After an unknown amount of time, her surroundings start to change. Now, there is a trail of carnage – rubble and debris littering the roads. Cracks snake and spiderweb throughout the sidewalk. The air weighs heavier on her. It’s as if the buildings are pressing in; she can feel the pressure on her back and shoulders. Her steps speed up. She should find what she’s looking for quickly and leave._

_A blink, and suddenly she’s in an alleyway. There are people here – people she knows. She sees her mom and dad, wearing the same clothes they left in, the same smiles they bid her good bye with. She wants to run to them but she can’t move. Her body won’t listen to the commands from her brain, she can’t even open her mouth to speak. She feels a chill sweep through her whole body, dread flooding ice in her veins despite how fast her heart beats. Her parents smile wider, wave at her and then-_

_A hand swipes at them. Their bodies are clawed to pieces, falling to the ground slowly. Like a puppet with its strings cut. Blood wells from the wounds, dripping, spilling, soaking into the ground. And **now** she can move, now she can run to them, now she can scream and wail and cry, but it’s far too late. She kneels in the red - doesn’t care that it’s staining her legs, her hands - as she frantically tries to piece her family back together. She hears herself begging from far away. She doesn’t know who she’s speaking to, doesn’t even register the words until she howls them like a wounded animal. “Call an ambulance. Call an ambulance! CALL AN AMBULANCE, **PLEASE!** ”_

_She knows that it won’t save them – in that same inexplicable way she knew that she was in Central, that she was looking for something. The same way she knows who did this._

_Scar._

_Somehow tripled in size, he towers above her - above mom and dad. His eyes burn like hellfire. Hunched over and menacing, with muscled arms as thick as tree trunks and hands curved into wicked sharp claws - he looks like a monster._

_There’s a gun in her shaking hands. She can’t remember when she got it, when she pointed it at him, when she put her finger over the trigger. Scar reaches for her and she wants to scramble back - out of reach, out of danger - but she’s too slow and his hand keeps reaching for her, steady and inevitable. It draws closer and closer and closer, and again she knows what will happen if it touches her. She will suffer the same fate as her parents._

_A gunshot rings out, booming and loud and horrible. It’s worse than any sound she’s ever heard. Winry braces herself for fresh blood to spill - to soil her hands further - another torrent in the river of crimson bathing her._

_That’s not what happens._

_A hole rips open in Scar’s chest, carving through tissue and bones and organs until he’s scraped clean, leaving ragged and frayed edges of flesh where his torso used to be. He looks more like he was hit with a cannon than a single bullet. The sight makes her want to throw up but she can’t tear her eyes away. Scar staggers, falls back, and doesn’t move again._

_“Winry?”_

_She turns and she’s at home, the living room as familiar as always. Only now, she’s aware of how out of place she is, dripping blood and still clutching the pistol like a lifeline. Ed and Al stand before her. With a feeling like someone grabbed her lungs and **squeezed** , she registers the expressions of horror on their faces. They look at her with wide, disbelieving eyes, like she just walked out of a bloodbath with a smile._

_“Why did you do it?”_

_Al – sweet, optimistic, kind-hearted Al, always seeing the potential in people to do good – is begging her for an explanation. Something to make this all okay. She licks her lips, mouth dry as a desert, and tries to explain, to say anything that would replace this awful, empty silence._

_No sound leaves her throat._

_“You killed him.” Ed says. “You killed him and now he’s dead! Why did you do it?” His voice shakes, a toxic cocktail of rage and hurt, of disgust and betrayal. It sounds like knives being driven into her heart. She bites her tongue on a sob, but her continued silence only drives him to demand-_

_“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”_

_“I didn’t –“ she chokes on the words. Tries again. “I didn’t want this. I **never** wanted this.” She looks at them imploringly but Alphonse turns away and the only glance she receives from Edward is frigid. “Please believe me.” She whispers._

_At that Ed scoffs, dripping with scorn and making her flinch. Her shoulders curve inward and she wishes more than anything that she could hide somehow, that the ground would open up and swallow her whole. The brothers share a look. Something unidentifiable passes between them and then they’re facing her again, only for Ed to hiss, “You’re a fucking monster.” Without another word the two of them head for the door._

_Her eyes widen. They can’t just leave, they **can’t**. She just got them back! After all the waiting and the misery and the fear - **they can’t leave!**_

_She tries to run, to reach out to them – **something** – but she’s moving through molasses. No matter how much she strains desperately to get to them, she’s too far away. The door closes – inch by inch, second by second. She’s helpless, watching their backs - and how cruel is it that that’s the last thing she sees of everyone who leaves her? It shuts, as final as the gunshot. Even before she reaches the door and wrenches it open, she knows exactly what she’ll see._

_They’re gone. For good._

 

* * *

 

Alphonse gently strokes his hand over her hair, bringing his palm back up to where he started each time. She can still feel Ed’s arm stretched somewhat awkwardly over the tangle of bodies. Neither of them have said anything yet; they were silent throughout her telling of the nightmare and unfalteringly patient when she stumbled over her words. Now, Winry feels drained, practically empty. She’s all out of words. Whoever decides to speak up next – to try and say something to make it all seem better – it certainly won’t be her.

No, it’s Ed who breaks the silence with all the delicacy of a freight train.

“No offence, Winry, but Dream-Me is an _asshat_.”

Al heaves a sigh. “ _Brother._ ” He says in that way that specifically means, _for the love of all that is good, have some tact!_

“ _What?_ We were all thinking it!” Ed defends. Alphonse must be giving him _such_ an unimpressed look because he continues, “No, seriously, Dream-Me knows jack shit about what he’s saying. Let’s pretend, for a hypothetical minute, that the dream was real. That _totally_ would have been self defence – which is completely justified, even in a court of law! But that doesn’t even matter because it _wasn’t_ real.” His tone softens suddenly as he addresses her. “Winry, you _didn’t_ kill Scar. You never killed him, even in that one terrible moment where you _wanted_ to. You made the right decision, no matter how hard it was.”

She frowns. “But - you and Al had to stop me.”

Ed snorts. “You’re kidding, right?”

Winry frowns even harder. As if she would joke about something like that, even if she had the energy for it right now. And anyways, what is Ed talking about? She knows that’s how it went – she remembers Edward and Alphonse pleading with her to drop the gun, yelling at her not to do it.

Al has the uncanny ability to be able to tell exactly where her thoughts are. “Winry, no matter what Brother and I said or did, it was ultimately your decision to make.” He explains gently. “Not mine, not Ed’s – all yours.”

“But –“

“I mean, _of fuckin’ course_ , we tried to reason with you; we would’ve done the same for anyone in that situation. But it was your choice whether or not to listen to us. _We_ were never the ones holding the gun.”

“Ed, you took it out of my hands.” Winry points out petulantly.

“You _let_ me take it out of your hands.” He counters. “I have absolutely no doubt that you could have given me hell for it, if you’d had half a mind to.”

And _that_ , for some reason, clicks. With only a handful of words, she gets what they’re trying to _say_.

_“You **let** me take it out of your hands.”_

Oh. _Oh._

She doesn’t protest anymore.

“As for us leaving and never coming back,” Al begins. “Let me ask you this: how many times have Brother and I left?”

She blinks. “A lot.” Winry answers, confused. Did they expect her to count?

“And how many times have we come back?” He asks. Ed makes a quiet sound of comprehension behind her, but she’s too busy trying to puzzle the pieces together herself.

“Every… time.” She says slowly.

“ _Exactly!_ ” Edward crows. “We’ve got a 100% return rate, which you can use to predict future outcomes. _And_ we know it’s a reliable conclusion because we collected so much data!”

“What Brother basically means,” Al says, trying not to laugh at Ed’s never-ending enthusiasm for science, “is that, if you could count on us coming back before, you can count on us coming back again.”

She hears a very distinct mutter of, “Oh, sure, _I’m_ the boring one.” but there’s no ire behind it.

Winry sighs. There’s no such thing as 100% certainty, even she knows that. Trust these brothers to bend the rules of probability just to make her feel better. The thought warms her heart and brings a smile to her face.

“Okay,” She says firmly. “I’ll be holding you two to that.”

Al says “Of course!” at the same time Ed groans, “Oh, great.”

She huffs. “Got a problem with that?”

“It’s just one _more_ thing for you to nag me about.” He complains. “I swear, it’s practically a hobby for you at this point.”

“More like my _job_.”

“Oh yeah? Who the fuck hired you? ‘Cause I sure as hell didn’t.”

“I’m self-employed!”

“You guys,” Al interrupts them before she and Ed can devolve into any further argument. Not like he’s any better than them, though, Winry can _hear_ him snickering at their antics. “We should probably _actually_ try to sleep now.”

If only to prove his point, her body betrays her in that instant and forces her into a jaw-cracking yawn. Ed finally removes his arm and rolls over. She only has a brief moment to miss the warmth and contact, however, before he’s pressing up against her, back-to-back. Al shifts to lie face up, and it’s all too easy to accept the unspoken invitation to rest her head on his chest. There’s another round of ‘Good night’s and ‘Sleep well’s and one ‘Sweet dreams’ from Alphonse that makes her smile again. She shuts her eyes, letting every muscle in her body relax.

And then - finally, _finally_ \- she falls asleep.

When she wakes up, it’s to the sound of Alphonse laughing his head off at the fact that she’s spooning his older brother. Edward’s indignantly whisper-shrieking that he can’t exactly _move_ ‘cause that would wake her up and she already had a crap time sleeping last night and “stop _laughing_ at me, Al, you god damn _traitor!_ ”

Life carries on, and it’s moments like these that make all the trouble seem worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking of making one more of these stories that focuses specifically on Al, but it's still in the "Extremely Vague Idea Phase" so who knows when I'll get around to writing that. Thanks again for reading!


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